


You’re Mine

by AFey



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 19:25:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17392241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFey/pseuds/AFey
Summary: Miranda wonders how this happened. Though, she supposes it was inevitable.





	You’re Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I had intended to work on a WIP. Instead, this insistent little idea popped up. A little different to my usual offerings...

Thinking back, Miranda really can't remember exactly how this _thing_ happened. A development that leaves her perturbed since she can remember all the other significant steps in their sexual relationship.

She remembers the first time they fucked. For the record: in Paris, after Andrea's futile attempt to quit. That evening Miranda had confronted her wayward assistant, insulted her. Well, they'd insulted each other, really. Andrea, her eyes flashing in anger, pushed Miranda onto the bed.

“I don't think everyone wants to be us.”

Miranda pursed her lips, ready to once again refute such an inane observation because of course, everyone wanted to be them.

“But I want _you_ ,” Andrea insisted before straddling her and sticking her tongue in Miranda's mouth. Which was pushy, and demanding. Not to mention ill-mannered. But Miranda had loved it. Loved having someone else be in control for once.

And she can certainly recall the first time they made love. For the sake of clarity it was in Miranda's bed, a month after Paris. Andrea was free from Runway, but not Miranda. Miranda was expecting the usual. Hard, fast. No tenderness. That's not what they were about. Or so Miranda thought. Again, Andrea took control. Gently, softly, she caressed Miranda. For so long that Miranda had to beg Andrea to just fuck her already.

“No,” Andrea growled. “Enough of this wham bam thank you ma'am bullshit, Miranda.”

“Bu-,” she’d attempted to say in protest.

“No,” Andrea replied, in a much softer tone. “It's my birthday and I get to make love to my girlfriend.”

And for once Miranda knew when to shut the fuck up and not say something that would ruin the moment. No comment about her being much too old to be anyone's girlfriend. Because connotations of the word aside, that's what she was and without her being conscious of it, that's certainly what Andrea had become to her. Miranda Priestly: Mother of twins. Queen of Fashion. And now, Andrea Sachs’s girlfriend.

Yet, this. This _thing_. Well, she doesn't know exactly how it occurred.

Their love making often started out gentle and tender before escalating into one of them being fucked senseless. Oh, who is she kidding. It’s usually her being the recipient of Andrea's enthusiastic fingers. Generally her that turns over, rises onto her knees and begs to be fucked from behind. A position she abhorred with every lover before Andrea.

Indeed, before Andrea she'd never been passive. Never let anyone else control or dominate her in bed. From the workplace to the bedroom, she’d remained firmly in charge. Because to let go was to trust the other person implicitly. To let go was to know, without a doubt, that she was safe. And she never was until Andrea.

Being possessed by Andrea is the sexual awakening Miranda despaired of ever experiencing. Which, when she thinks about it, probably does explain this latest turn of events.

“You're mine,” Andrea growled, her fingers thrusting so deeply into Miranda that the word impaled briefly came to mind before she dismissed it in annoyance.

‘No, possessed,’ she’d thought.

“You're mine,” Andrea repeated, before removing her fingers and sucking Miranda's swollen clit into her mouth.

In the whirlwind of sensations from Andrea's lips, tongue and fingers, Miranda came and though she didn't do something as dramatic as seeing stars or losing consciousness, there were moments that were suffused with the blissful haze of endorphins and whatever other hormones were released after she climaxes. It must have been during those moments that Andrea turned her words of passion into a visual reminder that Miranda will wear for days.

Miranda shakes her head and runs her fingertips over the bruise where her neck meets her right shoulder.

“I like it,” Andrea whispers in her ear.

“Fifty years old and marked for the first time in my life,” Miranda murmurs, lifting her head and meeting Andrea's eyes in the mirror.

Andrea's kisses her softly below her right ear, wraps her arms around Miranda’s waist and whispers, “You're mine.”

And so she is.


End file.
